


Stopped My Fall

by WriteThroughTheNight



Series: Wings [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Clint Barton Has Wings, Fluff, M/M, Recovery, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3098255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteThroughTheNight/pseuds/WriteThroughTheNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint recovers, as do his wings, and each member of the team reaches out to prove that things are still okay.</p>
<p>Sequel to Easiest Way To Go Is Up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stopped My Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the fluffy sequel to Easiest Way To Go Is Up! It's a bit of a five plus one, but not completely, it focuses on Clint's recovery and how awesome everyone on the team is. Thank you to everyone who commented and kudosed, and read the first fic! It really means a lot to me!
> 
> I would recommend you read Easiest Way To Go Is Up before reading this fic, as, well, nothing will make much sense if you don't. But if you'd really rather not, the short rundown is that Clint has wings which he's hidden from everyone, but that he recently revealed and subsequently injured.
> 
> As usual, no beta, but bioluminescent is awesome!
> 
> Enjoy!

*  
Tony  
*

Tony is the start of it all. Or maybe it's Clint, and the fact that the wings won't heal unless he leaves them out. He's not used to moving around with them present, certainly not in the Tower. There's been one too many painful collisions, both with his good wing and the one encased in a cast.

Clint takes to avoiding seats with backs and pulling in his feathery appendages whenever possible. He's just about reached the breaking point when the package appears neatly on his (and Phil's) kitchen table.

"Jarvis?" Clint asks.

The AI does his best impression of innocent.

"How may I help you, Clint?"

"Who left this on the table?" Clint asks.

Jarvis hums. 

"Sir."

Clint winces, and eyes the brown wrapping like it contains explosives. It very well might.

"What's inside?" He asks.

"As I believe the saying goes, open it and find out."

Clint grins at the ceiling.

"I love when you're a sassy little bitch." Ignoring the AI's huff, Clint tugs the parcel closer. He flops into a chair to open, before jumping immediately back up.

"Fuck." He hisses, flapping his right wing once and squinting at the throb in the left.

Jarvis makes a sound that could be deemed a snort. Clint flips him the bird. Giving up on the idea of sitting any time this century, Clint drags the mysterious box to him. Without further ado he tears into it to find... two black boxes.

There's a note, which only reads _I'm the most awesome of the awesome, suck my_ dick, _Barton_. Definitely from Tony then.

"Jarvis, what the hell?"

"Sir has noticed your rather alarming predilection for bumping into things and, in the interest of keeping his house intact, devised a solution. The little boxes clip onto the back of your collar- they are light, I assure you, and won't interfere with any possible movement or stretch your shirt- and cast an invisible net of holographic sensors over your wings. Any time the wings are in danger of colliding with something or someone, you will hear a soft beep."

Clint blinks. 

"That's actually incredible. But what if I'm leaning against a counter, or sitting on a couch? Will they beep constantly?"

"After approximately an hour of wear they will begin to anticipate your movements. Anything that appears intentional or natural will be disregarded, so the devices are not fool proof." 

"Still pretty damn awesome." Clint interjects. Mindful of his wings, Clint clips the two boxes on, and rolls his neck. Jarvis was right, he can hardly feel them.

Experimentally, Clint backs towards the counter. When he estimates himself to be six inches away, the box lets out a little beep. Loud enough to catch his attention, but soft enough that it won't annoy him. Clint grins.

"Awesome. Thank Tony for me, won't you Jarvis? I know he won't accept it in person." Clint says.

"Indeed, Clint. I am glad you like it."

"Course I do!" Clint replies. He glowers at the kitchen chair, giving it a kick. "I'm still burning this chair, Stark's property be damned."

Jarvis doesn't even bother to conceal his chuckle this time.

*  
Jarvis  
*

Overnight, all of the chairs in the both the communal kitchen and Phil and Clint's floor change from sturdy wooden backed ones to bar stools.

Jarvis never admits to it, but with Tony's gift and Jarvis', Clint cuts down painful collisions with his wings by over seventy percent.

Also, it's damn hilarious when Tony forgets about the change and falls off the chair with no back to catch him. Clint wonders if Bruce will help him find a way to send flowers to an AI.

*  
Thor  
*

Thor, back from a visit to Asgard, comes bearing gifts.

After handing out various treats and candies, Thor makes a beeline for Clint. Clint arches an eyebrow but hugs the Asgardian back, winching his wings out of the way.

Thor looks happy to see them all, particularly Clint.

"I have spoken with Asgard's best healer about your wings' plight, and while she says she cannot help without a meeting, she would have me offer you this." Thor intones, one hand ducking into his armor. He emerges with a large container of what looks to Clint like oil.

"Tis the finest oil for wings, my friend. I am told that it both purifies your feathers and strengthens them, making one sleek and fast." Thor explains, wrapping Clint's hands around the jar. "You would do me much honor if you accepted this gift."

"Thank you." Clint manages. "This is too much."

"Anything for a brother-in-arms." Thor tells him. The Asgardian claps him once on the shoulder and then turns back to the rest of the team.

Later that night, as Clint regales Phil with the tale, he catches his husband eyeing him speculatively.

"What?" Clint snaps, defensive without meaning to be.

"Oh nothing." Phil says, the corner of his mouth turned up in mischief. "Only wondering if the oil can double as lube."

Clint sputters, and then resolves to figure out. 

*  
Steve  
*

Steve catches Clint when he's lounging around in the Rec room, feet in Phil's lap, ball game on the television. Clint sits with his back against the arm of the couch, and his wings dangling off the edge. It's only been two weeks, but from the latest x-rays Clint agreed to, his wing is almost back to normal. He'd had to explain the accelerated healing to Bruce and Tony, who'd looked put out at the Laws of Science being violated once again.

The wing's still in a cast, but it's not as heavy or thick as the original. Clint's hoping to be rid of it in a few days.

He hears rather than sees Steve's approach, tilts his head upside down off the couch to catch a glimpse.

"Hey, Cap."

Steve grins at him, and it looks rather bizarre flipped around.

"Clint." He says, then glances over Clint to his husband sitting at the edge of the couch. "Phil."

Clint doesn't have to look to see Phil blushing; his husband is _still_ such a fanboy. Winking, he shares a smirk with Steve. Phil squeezes Clint's ankle in reprimand.

"How can we help you, Steve?" Phil asks.

Steve shrugs, looks down at his shoes, and turns red. Clint sits up at that because, despite expectations, Captain America is a little shit with a dirty mouth. There's not much that can make an Army Man embarrassed.

"It's nothing, I just made a little something for Clint." Steve mumbles. And now that Clint's looking, he sees the piece of paper in the good Captain's hand. It's a piece of that pricey drawing paper that Tony had left lying around the Tower until Steve had gotten the idea and squirreled it away.

"For me?" Clint tries not to sound too delighted, but is pretty sure he fails.

Steve snickers, before remembering that he's supposed to be embarrassed.

"Here." He says, and hands Clint the paper.

Clint perches awkwardly on the edge of the couch, curious in spite of himself. What he sees is not what he expects.

It's a drawing of him, done in what Clint recognizes as charcoal. His wings are out, spread behind and above him, and it's painful the amount of detail that must have gone into the drawing. To his left is Phil, under the shadow of the wing, and Natasha sits by his feet. The rest of the team is there too, blurred but present. The center of everything is Clint and his wings, which seem to glow off the page. His breath catches in his throat.

"Steve, this is-" Clint shakes his head. There are no words to describe the feeling bubbling his chest. 

"Do you like it?" Steve asks, anxious. He's peering earnestly at Clint with his blue eyes, and Clint can't help the laugh, half-incredulous, half-delighted.

"Steve, it's beautiful, of course I like it!" 

Steve blushes and smiles.

"Your wings are beautiful, Clint." Steve mumbles. If Clint thought he was red before, well now Steve is equivalent to a tomato. Inexplicably, Clint feels his own flush forming and shuffles his feet.

"Thanks, Steve." 

"I'm just glad you're okay, that both of you are." He says, squeezing Clint's shoulder gently and nodding at Phil. 

Clint claps his hand over Steve's.

"Yeah," he nods, "Me too."

*  
Bruce  
*

Bruce finally agrees that Clint's cast can come off, and accepts the high-five Clint offers him. He watches as Clint carefully flexes his left wing, flapping experimentally. It's a little weak still, but the muscles have barely atrophied. In the flying department, Clint has gone much longer than two, nearly three weeks, without taking to the air.

Clint's making his excuses, mind focused entirely on driving out somewhere to test his wings, when Bruce stops him with a hand on his arm.

"Clint, I was wondering if you'd let me see you fly?"

Clint blinks, pauses.

"Sure? It's not really anything special." Purposefully, he ignores the little voice in the back of his head that name-drops Barney. His brother had asked him a similar question, a lifetime ago. But, the difference is Bruce could kill him at any time, kill them all really, and Clint trusts him not to. Trusting him with this isn't much different.

Bruce scoffs at his reply.

"It defies the Laws of Science. Your wings shouldn't be able to keep you in the air, and I've seen your x-rays, your back shouldn't be strong enough to support flight." Bruce starts. When he catches Clint's eye, he laughs. "I'm curious is all."

Clint shrugs, and says,

"Nothing wrong with that, Doc. So how do you want to do this?" Clint waves at the door with a wing. "I was going to drive out to the woods, fly around for a bit. You can come along."

Bruce frowns at him.

"Why don't we just go up to the roof?" He asks.

Clint's immediate response is that people can't know about his wings, that he has to protect them. Abruptly, he remembers that he jumped off a roof and showed them the world. No doubt there's not a single person in New York who hasn't been told just how accurate the moniker Hawkeye is.

Clint considers this, and shrugs

"Let's go then!"

Ten minutes later, Clint dives off the roof of the Tower, letting gravity yank him downwards. When he's fallen about fifty floors, Clint grins to himself, and flaps his wings into motion. For a second, the laws of the physical world don't want to give him up, but then Clint feels his wings catch the air, and he's rocketing upwards. What shoots out of Clint's mouth is nothing if not a whoop of joy.

He catches Bruce's expression as he soars over the top of the roof, and it's a smile large enough to rival Clint's own. Clint dips and dives, flips and twirls, and revels in the burn of his muscles, the wind in his feathers. It's a feeling like no other, that only someone who can fly could ever understand. 

Clint doesn't know how long he spends up there, but it's long enough that the news tomorrow will be mostly headlines of: A Hawk Takes to the Sky Above Stark Tower.

Clint doesn't care, he's free.

*  
Natasha  
*

Natasha is the hardest of them all, perhaps because Clint knows that he hurt her, more than any of the others. They've known each other for over half a decade, nearly died for the other more times than truly necessary. If there's anyone Clint trusts it's her, and yet he didn't trust her where it counted.

Nat's hurt, and Clint knows that it's his fault, and what he feels is nothing if not immeasurable guilt.

That's why after he's gone flying with Bruce, he seeks out Natasha.

She's in the gym, sparring with Steve, and Clint watches for a second. She's as deadly as ever, and still manages to lay a supersoldier flat, every goddamn bout. Clint had told Phil what he was planning to do last night, and his husband had just smiled at him, said 'about time'.

Clint clears his throat and shoves down his nerves. This is Nat, and he trusts her, and everything will be fine.

"Hey, Steve, can I steal Nat for a minute?" Clint calls. Immediately, the two stop their dance.

"Yeah, sure. I was just about done anyway." Steve agrees, wiping sweat off his brow. His t-shirt clings tightly, and Clint isn't ashamed to have difficulty tearing his gaze away. Finally, he meets Nat's eyes, who laughs at him silently.

She joins Clint at the doorway to the gym, doesn't protest when he leads her away without stopping for her to change or shower. This has to be done now, before Clint loses his courage.

They don't speak until Clint's isolated them in his personal living room. Natasha doesn't ask, just watches quietly as Clint removes his shirt and rolls his shoulders.

She doesn't speak even as Clint wills his wings into existence, shaking them out, though one of her eyebrows arches.

Clint figures that he'll have to start them off then.

"I'm sorry I didn't trust you with my wings." He says. Nat opens up her mouth, eyes hard and unreadable, but Clint waves a hand to cut her off. "No, you're my partner and I trust you, more than anything. I don't want the wings to change that, so go ahead."

Clint curls the fingers of one hand into a fist, and tries not to panic. But Nat only tilts her head, doesn't make a move towards his wings.

"What exactly are you offering, Clint?" She asks him. Clint tries to read her tone, but gives up. Uncomfortable, he shuffles his wings, once, twice, but doesn't put them away.

"You can touch them if you want. No one has, except Phil, but I trust you Nat." Clint tells her. When something else occurs to him, Clint grimaces. "That is, if you want to, I mean it might be pretty weird, but-"

He cuts off, as Natasha steps closer, far into his personal space.

"Idiot," she huffs. "I know you trust me. It'd still be an honor."

Clint smiles, shaky, and presses a wing into her outstretched hand.

It's nothing like Phil touching his wings, but it's nothing like Barney or his father. Natasha's hands are small, smaller than any other that has ever touched his wings. Instead of her usual all-in approach, her hands on the feathers are deceptively light, barely there. Clint still shudders with it, and his wings tremble. Nat presses down with more force, stroking out from Clint's shoulder down to the farthest reach of her arm.

Last, Clint risks a glance at her face, and what he sees there makes his breath catch. Nat's eyes aren't shuttered for once, and they contain something terribly close to wonder. She pets the wings like they're fragile, a gift, precious, and Clint surprises himself with the sob caught in his throat.

Her hand withdraws, only to tug Clint forward and tuck his face into her neck. Unconsciously, Clint's wings close around them. 

"Thank you." She whispers into his ear.

"No," Clint shakes his head, breathing in Natasha and safety, "Thank you."

Clint's wings tighten around them both, like arms, and as Natasha scratches a hand carefully through the feathers, he smiles.


End file.
